Meredith Mills was a brittle sort of woman. She spoke quietly and uncertainly, afraid of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Her hands had developed a slight shake, and she bore her 40 years badly. She was thin and pallid with none of the womanly figure she had once had. She had relied on her husband to make the big decisions in their life, but when he left for the war and never came back, she was thrust violently into the role of authority. Her oldest, Ellie, had been a joy to raise. Eager to please and quick-witted, Ellie had been no burden on her mother.